Just Another Cliche
by Iris Cornelia Jade
Summary: <html><head></head>So really, they're just another pair of best friends, hopelessly in love, but so cliche that as soon as it goes right, it'll go wrong. For Top Madrigal Agent's two-shot contest. Enjoy.</html>
1. Chapter 1

**For Top Madrigal Agent's two-shot Contest! Thanks!**

**This is third-person omniscient—where the narrator knows what's going on but not from one specific person. Omniscient is a foreign language for "all knowing," hence the word.**

It's the casual, natural cliché that's always, somehow, becomes reality—he's the opposite of her. They're best friends regardless. Siblings either love the idea with a passion or hate it with vigor. Eventually, they get together.

Never before have clichés been so friendly, to either of them.

That's the other lovely idiom that's grown too out of date to be real—they're best friends in the whole world, both secretly in love with each other. Common. They eventually meet each other in the middle. Standard. Everybody loves a happy ending, after all.

Except in their case, they're not sure the last half will ever happen, because for once things seem a bit _too _cliché to be real, so they're sure that as soon as things go right, they'll go wrong.

* * *

><p>It's classic. He's Hamilton Holt—son to a scorned father, brother to a cold sister, child to a naïve mother, and confidant to a timid sister. He feels like the solitary peak sometimes—his father, mother, and sister would not hesitate to disown him in the worst possible way if they ever found out that he was helping him—and most of all, <em>her.<em> His other sister, Reagan, would never stand up to them, defend him. All his life _he _had been defending _her._ And she wasn't stupid enough to start switching roles already. There was only one reason why he would be foolish enough to keep his so called alliance.

And that reason was _her._

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><p>It's the stuff of fairytales. She's Amy Cahill—the bookish, shy good girl that stutters sometimes and maybe crushes on one too many boys—first Ian and now Hamilton, but who's she to judge? She's a social outcast—as meaningless, worthless, yet <em>free<em> as the dust. She couldn't possibly understand anything about the cruel system of popularity works—although she seems to be uncanny in the art of feelings, emotions, and ways of the heart. It's the clue hunt that's done this to her—taken her parents, her grandmother, her _life_—so much that she can't do anything but win now, because that's practically all she has left.

All she has left is the hunt, her brother, a wacky au pair, and _him_.

* * *

><p>Despite his dedication to his father, every time he calls them, gives them more information, saves them from the pressing danger, he feels a bit more alive, a bit more wild, a bit more…released. <em>Free.<em> His whole life, he had been dedicated to two things—his father and the clues. And slowly, little by little, the first was beginning to take over the latter. He knew this, but he didn't try to stop it. After all, his father was working to get the clues, right? So this was, in essence, helping both. Killing two birds with one stone.

Except it's somehow, in some weird way he can't fathom, _not_ the same, his father and his hunt. The hunt's got heart, betrayal, and revenge at the heart of it, feelings at the very core. Feelings were something his father could never understand. And, as he continues to betray his family and branch in the worst way possible, he begins to think that if he's really killing two birds with one stone, maybe he doesn't want all the feathers involved.

* * *

><p>Every time she receives a report, she gets more and more guilty, because she knows that by now it's far enough, that this alliance should end. She should be the one pressuring Dan. He won't pressure her—he's Hamilton's friend.<p>

Except at this point, Amy's beginning to feel Hamilton may be a bit _more_ than a friend to her, and if Dan is broken-hearted by the breaking, she's ready to break down and die by it because he means so much more to her, in ways that both Dan and _him_ will never understand.

So when Nellie is the first to catch sight of what's happening between a Dolt and a smarty—polar opposites like him and her—she's the first to bring up Ian Kabra. But Amy knows so much better now—her heart _isn't_ on her sleeve right now and she wishes that everyone would stop judging her on her past actions and _see_ a little—see what she is now, see what everyone _made_ her and feel just a little sorry for what they did, maybe.

* * *

><p>Suns set and suns rise, and yet Hamilton doesn't see any way to do this. He can let his friendship for Dan, his final understanding of Reagan, the freedom of his soul leave like birds in a cage and never come back—but no matter how many times he shuts his doors against it, <em>she<em> never leaves. She persists in staying, and his dad's inside him too. Every time Eisenhower tells him how proud he is of his son, the angel on his right shoulder grows a little larger and he thinks that next time he calls them, next time he calls them he'll cut it off.

Except the next time he calls them, _she's_ always the one to answer. And one he hears her thank him, the devil on his left shoulder swells a bit and he'll lose his nerve again.

Who said _she _was the devil, anyway?

* * *

><p>She's watching him haul her brother up the slope of Cahill Island—where it all began and where it will all end—and she's wondering about her last words.<p>

_Don't trust them_.

She'll never say those words enough to stop being hypocritical.

It's something hardened into her brain by now—or at least should be. Jonah Wizard in Paris, then Ian and Natalie Kabra in Korea. Theo and Hillary in Egypt, and Isabel Kabra in Australia. And there were still more—many more, that would only lower her strength and spirit if she thought of them. And here, at the pinnacle of power, she would need all the strength and spirit she had.

But somehow, in some small part of her heart, she knows it's too late to stop and turn back. She should have shut him out when she had the chance, but now she's in too deep and there's no turning back. The hunt's almost over, he's burrowed a place deep into her heart, and she knows that if she gouges him out, the hole will hurt more than the wound.

Besides, she thinks as she watches the sun shed its rays straight across his head, she knew Grace. And Grace would have appreciated her decision. If McIntyre had really believed that Grace would have said that, he really didn't know the real Grace.

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><p>It's over. It's done. They've won. His father's forgiven him. His sister and mother as well. He's happy.<p>

The best thing is her warm smile, her thanking, her eagerness to share the most valuable thing in the world with him, which would make him more valuable than serum to her, right?

So when the rosy-fingered dusk makes one last feeble attempt to shed light on his situation, he realizes he doesn't need the help. He's got it all figured out. And maybe tomorrow, he'll give her another report. Not on clues, not on hunts, but on life. And maybe, afterward, she'd call him back.

But now was not the time. Today was one more day where he could be himself—one more day when he can forget her. It's something he always wanted during the hunt, and now that it's over, he wants to have his way once before he admits to his heart what it wants.

So, he shuts _her_ out of his cage for one more day, allowing her to fly free, knowing that at least she'll return tomorrow.

His hand slowly unclenches finger by finger as the sun sets, allowing tomorrow to bring the dawn of a glorious new age—an age of peace.

* * *

><p>The next day comes, and he waits for the bird to fly back. But, even though it does, he realizes that his fears have come back with it. What if she's changed her mind, what if Dan answers, what if he read all the signs wrong (of <em>course<em> he would, he's a Tomas, and what do they know about love anyway?)

So, they continue in their separate circles, and form their own in the middle. Friends. And eventually best friends. But they'll never be more, and he knows that, because it's just _too_ fairytale, and fairy tales never come true. At least not in his world.

So really, that's all they are. They're just a pair of friends, in a situation so cliché that it can't be real.

***Wince* It wasn't **_**too**_** bad…right? Sorry for over-use of italics, but I really don't have a beta…**

**For all the people that were disappointed in the non-romance ending, keep in mind it's a **_**two-shot**_** contest. And the next one will be literal, don't worry, not poetic like this one. ;)**

**Run-on sentences? Most were actually on purpose. If you find one you think I didn't do on purpose, then review.**

**R&R? Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait…**

**Thanks:**

**Volcanic Lily, Ballet Reader, Serenity Kabra, and AuthorArtist. And, of course, Top Madrigal Agent.**

**R&R?**

**Format: Dialogue, mostly. :)h Nothing like a good old chat.**

"So what's it like, being in love?"

As the words slipped out of her mouth, Gracie looked up from her math worksheet, a bit confused. "It's a bit hard to explain. It's like…warmth. Happiness. You're not alone. Someone's watching your back. They're there to catch you when you fall. They always will be. " She stared down at a neat row of volume problems before smiling slightly. "It's nice. Calm. Natural." She plunked her pencil down, pushed her textbook into the corner of the desk, and turned to face Amy. "Do you get what I mean?"

Amy nodded sternly twice. She got what she meant. It meant she was in worse trouble than she had thought.

* * *

><p>Hamilton turned tentatively to face Mark.<p>

"What does it feel like?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "What does what feel like?"

"You know…" Hamilton fiddled around for the right word. "…love?"

"Well…it's a bit like…another half. It just feels _natural_. No stress, to expectations, just…existing side by side, I guess. Knowing that…you'll never really be alone." Mark turned nervously. He was a _Tomas_, he didn't usually discuss this stuff. "Anything else? An explanation or something?"

Hamilton leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered one after another as he caught him with a stare.

"Oh, no need to explain."

* * *

><p>"So, how's life?"<p>

"Same old." Amy flopped onto her bed and starred at the glow-in-the-dark stars pasted on the purple backdrop. "Caught in the middle of everything here at high school. In between the hormones, the homework, and the heart, I really can't turn anywhere."

"In other words, you're lost."

"You said it. It's a jungle out there. Or a labyrinth. An unnavigable maze with dead ends, u-turns, and supposed short-cuts that are there to undermine you. And there's the whole 'everybody's getting a boyfriend except for me' thing where all the gossip girls are trying to pair me up with every single boy in the whole school."

"Well, when has love ever been anything else?"

"A complete riddle that I've _never_ been able to stop. Made ten times harder when you happen to be in love with your best friend."

"I thought you'd never get out of denial."

"Well," said Amy, sitting up with her face cupped in her hands, "there's a point in denial when you start to wonder exactly what you're denying, why you're doing it, and what's the point of it all if you're going to end up admitting sooner or later anyway."

* * *

><p>"Well, it depends, really."<p>

"On what?"

"On whether or not I'll ever really get the guts I'm supposed to have."

"Well, blood doesn't reach _everything_."

"Sometimes, I seriously wonder why God made this whole thing." Hamilton propped up his head. "Love, I mean. Think about it logically. If what all those cheesy fairy tales say are true, and we really have some sort of 'soul mate' out for us, what are the odds they're actually going to meet? And that's _not_ including all the potholes, enemies, revenge, etcetera that's all detailed in the mix. If you think about it, there's really no such thing as a happy ending. Because the chances are so slim to none, and besides, nothing like that _truly_ lasts forever."

"That's depressing."

"That's life." Hamilton sighed. "A proverb, a textbook, and a good dose of truth right when you need it least."

* * *

><p>"Why?"<p>

Hamilton stopped through midthrow. "Why what?"

"Why are you dating Georgia?" Amy threw a water bottle at him.

"Well…she's really quite pretty. She's nice once you get to know her. And she gives me a sense of…accomplishment, I guess. And that makes the relationship feel good." He caught the bottle, flipped of the top, and gulped down as much as he could, dropping the basketball.

"She's also a flirt, an idiot to anyone who's _not_ dating her, and you're doing it for all the wrong reasons! Relationships are meant to make you feel good, yes, but not in _that_ way!"

"Well, let's see—is this _your_ relationship? No. So, therefore, you are _not _a part of this."

"Well, since you're only my _best friend_, I intend to _make_ myself a part of this! You know the problem with Georgia?" Amy stood on her feet, striding over to Hamilton in ten easy steps. "Georgia turns herself and all her boyfriends into complete snobs. Idiotic jerks. And I thought you were above that." She sneered, feeling very unlike herself, yet unable to stop it. "If you're going to become _that,_"she poked him. Hard. "Then there's a lot more of your branch's blood in you than I thought. Enough to turn you into an egotistical prat who thinks he's above everyone else." She poked him again. "Are you?"

Turning on her heel, she walked calmly back toward the door, too quickly to hear his answer.

* * *

><p>"I can't exactly be without one now, can I? I mean, I'd look like a complete loser if I didn't have one, now that he does."<p>

"Suit yourself."

So Amy chose Evan Tolliver. Smart, not to mention not popular and quite good-looking. As far as anyone was concerned, it was the everyday schoolgirl crush. However miraculous it was that bookish _Amy Cahill _had been caught by hormones, it was brushed off.

Except for the fact that Evan started liking her _back_, which made it ten times harder. And when she (somehow unknowingly) became his girlfriend, she began to realize that maybe she was starting to be a bit too over her head.

But it was too late _now,_ anyway, and besides, if she left, where would she turn? So, she continued her charade. Because she knew that even though she was being a liar, it was a lot better than being alone.

* * *

><p>"Dude, Amy, what's up with the waterworks?"<p>

"Evan broke up with me."

"Oh." Pause, and then, "I'll punch his lights out if you want."

"I'm fine, thanks." Sad smile. "I'm just more surprised than sad, that's all. To be honest, he was a bit of a jerk during…about forever."

"Always knew that. You didn't need to tell me."

Amy chuckled. "You know, I might let you do just that."

Hamilton stared at the frail body leaning on his shoulder.

"No, seriously?"

"…No."

That was the difference between her and the other Cahills, Hamilton realized. While the others were perfectly content to let so many non-Cahills die for their branches, sacrifice their lives for the good of their family. While Amy could not bear to see innocent blood spilt.

In that way, He was more like Amy and Reagan than he thought.

* * *

><p>"You know what I hate most about Georgia?" Amy pored carefully over a manuscript about some Ekaterina or the other as she talked to Hamilton out of the corner of the mouth.<p>

"Well, I don't know…but I assume that you're going to tell me."

"The fact that her, her groupies, and her boyfriends all happen to become blind to facts staring them straight in the face."

Was this yet another one of the messages with hidden meanings? Because she should have known by now that Tomas just don't do that stuff.

"Okay. Well, I hope you don't think I'm _that_ blind yet."

Amy stared straight up this time, piercing him with shards of jade.

"I think so."

* * *

><p>"I love you."<p>

"Say what now?"

Amy sighed. "You know, the reason no one ever confesses they love someone is because they're afraid of rejection. But don't they realize that the other person is thinking the exact same thing. It's not like they're from a different planet—in fact, they must be very similar. Therefore, they'd also be very afraid to answer. In addition, if you never ask, you'll never get an answer, now will you? " She tipped her head, still frowning down at the food she was stuffing into the plastic bag for the homeless shelter. "Besides, the suspense is worse than anything."

"…I guess that's okay. After all, if you don't ask, you'll never know, now will you?"

"Nope. Now you answer."

"Um…maybe…okay, yes. But I'm not a sap, now am I?"

"No, you're not. Don't worry. Nothing's changed." She smiled.

"Isn't it like, mandatory to go on a date now or something?"

"Nope. Don't worry. Besides, we should get to know each other better before we start…you know…" She waved her hand at Gracie and Mark. "Just be _best_ friends before we get together."

"Know each other better? We're best friends, we're practically related now! What?"

"Well…start with the basics. What do we usually do?"

"Chat. Duh." He boggled his eyes at her, wondering what on Earth was going on.

"Exactly. I have so many questions about your life, why you do…what you do, I guess? And also your history, and…secrets and stuff. You know?"

"Maybe."

"You are so hopeless, Hamilton Holt." She threw her plastic bag in the air, a can of jalapenos falling onto Hamilton's head halfway through.

"Exactly." He grinned. She grinned back, and everything was going to be okay. Nothing was going to be different from last time—until they were ready.

So really, clichés were just fine with him. He hadn't even known what they _were_ until very soon…but…

Well, if the result was a jade-eyed, auburn girl laughing beside him, then he was fine with it.

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><p><strong>If you like this story, I am positively BEGGING you to go on Top Madrigal Agent's profile and voting for me on her poll. I want to win this contest, you know. :D<strong>


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